The Strain: Another Season - Episode Three - The Books
by Rosie Brook-Meade
Summary: Sandra has been wooing Fitzwilliam for ffinch-Myles (whatever their plans are, at least they don't seem wholly pro-Master). Gus has recruited Creem and his men for Vaun, plus an ageing wrestler/movie star. Now, Setrakian seeks to bolster his numbers. He doesn't get the warriors he was hoping for but something even more game-changing turns up. And Eichhorst takes a bath.
1. Chapter 1

Stoneheart building, Manhattan, Present Day  
Eichhorst's bathroom

The bathroom is just as spacious and opulent as the rest of the apartment. It must have been designed for a human resident because there is the usual human ablutionary equipment in evidence, including a huge grey marble bath in the centre. In the dim light, it seems to have been run for someone. A guest maybe? There is only one robe hanging up, though.

German opera music is being piped in via built-in speakers. Many large mirrors reflect the subdued lighting. The whole atmosphere is tranquil and luxurious. If Eichhorst _is_ entertaining, it is in lavish style.

The surface of the water ripples and it becomes clear that the liquid is not water but blood. And there's something in it. Something's been submerged for several minutes but now, Eichhorst erupts in one smooth movement and stands, allowing the blood to drip easily off his waxy epidermis. His eyes avoid all the mirrors and he swishes the robe around him.

* * *

Poland 1944

Human Eichhorst is in the bath. The quarters and process are much more utilitarian than those of the present day Eichhorst but still an unimaginable dream compared to the privations that young Abraham Setrakian and his fellows are enduring.

Eichhorst plunges his head under the water and doesn't hear the front door opening. No one calls out to announce themselves. Bloodstained boots tread quietly over the rugs downstairs.

There is no music playing here but Eichhorst starts to sing an aria as he shampoos his hair, disguising the footfalls on the hallway's parquet. Down goes his head once more to rinse the suds as the boots start slowly and carefully up the stairs. Up he comes again and tilts his head to get the last of the water out of his ears and the singing resumes. The boots have reached the landing now and slow down. Eichhorst loses the melody and stops, just as a floorboard squeaks. He freezes.

Eichhorst looks around at his uniform hanging on the back of the door and his Luger and its cartridge on a chair in the opposite corner. His empty, uncocked Luger. Trousers or gun. Dignity or security. He makes his decision and leaps out of the bath as the door bursts open and the boots run in...

They run in to the wrong room - a bedroom, giving Eichhorst the dubious luxury of a few more seconds to try to get dressed as well as armed.

He runs out of time and the bathroom door is kicked off its hinges, making Eichhorst's soapy feet slip on the wood. He is sent clattering backwards with one ankle in his trousers. His flailing arms pull the towel holder and chair on top of him. But at least his pistol is ready for action and pointing at the intruder.

* * *

 **Author's note: I don't really believe that _strigoi_ Eichhorst takes a bath, blood or otherwise. After all, he's still in his jammies when he has breakfast and puts his make-up on. **


	2. Chapter 2

The Strain: Another Season  
Episode 3

 **Author's note: Sooo... if Eichhorst is bollock naked and soapy then one tiny little 500 word chapter gets almost as many views in twelve hours as the rest of the story got in twelve days. Hmmm. Perhaps the show runners are missing a trick.**

 **I've also been thinking about the blood bath and I could see it happening as a one-off beauty treatment for all his silver wounds from the showdown at Bolivar's. I don't see it as a routine occurrence because he'd have to sacrifice the blood of about 50-60 men to fill it (and it _would_ be men wouldn't it? Young, attractive, Aryan men...) **

**I also ought to remind you of "casting": 1989 Sandra - Amber Heard and present day Sandra - Charlize Theron both with English accent; Corey - Tom Hiddleston with trace of Dutch accent.**

The Books  
Chapter Two

* * *

Poland 1944

'You don't look very pleased to see me,' _double entendres_ the intruder - a strikingly good-looking man over six feet tall with black hair and husky-blue eyes.

A torrent of incoherent abuse in German is Eichhorst's response. The gist of it is, 'My door! My f*cking door!'

The intruder surveys the damage he's caused and looks slightly impressed at his own strength.

The prone and still furious Eichhorst yells, 'You idiot, Dreverhaven. I ought to shoot you anyway for all this.' He takes aim at various different targets on the other man's body.

Dreverhaven leers again. 'You ought to shoot me anyway,' he says, 'for what I'm thinking.' His gaze travels slowly all over the naked Eichhorst, lingering here and there.

There's a disgusted snort and Eichhorst fires into the woodwork near Dreverhaven's feet, forcing him out into the corridor. Eichhorst is uncomfortable enough to skip the drying and pull his clothes chafingly onto wet skin.

Nevertheless, Dreverhaven is soon back, leaning on the door frame watching, before Eichhorst has even got his shirt on. Eichhorst turns his back and a slow smile creeps over the other man's face. 'I've come to offer you a lift to the Gräfin's soirée,' he says.

'She shouldn't be calling herself that any longer,' says Eichhorst.

'Why?' Dreverhaven chuckles sarcastically, 'because we are all equal under one glorious Führer.'

'That's how we should be,' says Eichhorst definitely.

'So long as our Führer still wants you to be his Colonel,' taunts Dreverhaven. 'Or his General...'

Eichhorst ignores that but does a double take on next glancing over at his visitor. 'You look different,' he says.

'Thank you,' says Dreverhaven.

'It wasn't a compliment.'

'Ah. So I was perfect before?'

'Are you wearing makeup?' asks Eichhorst.

'Well, the rest of us have to try _something_ to get some attention if we're in the same room as you, and all that...' Dreverhaven grins and waves his hand in the general direction of the Commandant, '... sapphire and silver.' He really needn't worry, you would have to be in love to look at anyone else than Doktor Werner Dreverhaven, Standartenführer or no Standartenführer.

Dreverhaven reaches up and wiggles his chin until it comes off in his hand making Eichhorst gasp. He drops it into the the other's hands saying, 'It's Petkowicz's.' Eichhorst flings it back in his face. 'That's revolting! You're sick, Doktor.'

'Oh, calm down. It's not his actual flesh. It would rot if it were. I just thought he was exquisite, so I moulded copies of his best features out of latex. Here's the nose. Perfect isn't it?'

Eichhorst brings it up to his eyes to examine closely. He twists it this way and that, utterly fascinated.

'I knew you'd be interested,' says the doctor. 'And that's not all.' He touches his fingers to each eye in turn and removes the coloured lenses. He holds them out to Eichhorst who looks suspiciously at them. 'Go on, they're only glass,' says Dreverhaven. 'Hopefully, one day there'll be soft, plastic ones, because those are sheer agony for longer than a few hours.'

Eichhorst gazes at the lenses and the rubber nose and breathes reverentially, 'A man could rebuild his whole face with such as these.'

'Yes,' says Dreverhaven knowingly, 'he could...couldn't you?'

Eichhorst glances up from the prosthetics in his hands at that comment and, catching the doctor's eye, looks away again quickly. In averting his gaze downwards, he spots Dreverhaven's footwear. 'Your boots, Werner - they're filthy!' he says 'What have you been doing to those poor creatures today?'

Dreverhaven opens his mouth to answer but Eichhorst interrupts. 'No. Don't tell me. We are cleansing Europe of the Jewish vermin - and that is a good and noble thing - but why must you also torture them?'

Dreverhaven smiles a slow sadistic grin. 'Because I enjoy it, Thomas. And you cannot judge. What do you do to that pretty little thing you have locked up in the workshop? You visit him at all hours, under the flimsiest of pretexts. Is he another pet? Or something more satisfying? You should thank me for the door. Now you've got a reason to bring him here.'

He gets a glare but no further response before Eichhorst strides out of the room, putting his hat on. He canters down the stairs calling out, 'No thank you, Werner, I shall drive myself.'

* * *

Maastricht 1989  
Corey's Apartment

Corey and Sandra are asleep in bed together. Corey wakes first and snuggles right up to Sandra's back. He pulls her hair away from her neck and kisses the back. She wakes, moans softly and he stretches over to reach her throat, nuzzling and nibbling. Sandra arches in appreciation and makes to roll over to face him but he gently prevents this with a hand on her shoulder. She's wide awake now and a really grubby smile curls the corners of her mouth.

The phone rings.

And rings.

And rings...

It stops and there are sighs of relief from the bedroom. The bed creaks.

And the phone starts again. 'Someone'd better be dead,' growls Corey, climbing out of bed. 'Someone bloody _will_ be,' says Sandra as Corey picks up the receiver. 'What?' he snaps.

'Oh Professor Setrakian. Sorry, I was...er...it was...er...how can I help you?'

'Oh,' Corey sounds disappointed. 'Again? Oh, OK then.'

'But you're definitely coming eventually? You're not going to blow us off?'

'OK,' he smiles. 'We look forward to it. Yeah, we'll probably head there now and wait for you. I can do some preliminary investigations with other contacts.'

Corey's face falls. 'Really? You think so? Yeah I'll take care of her. 'Bye then Professor. Good luck with the book hunting. Safe journey.'

Corey replaces the receiver thoughtfully and turns to Sandra who's come out to the living area.

'Another delay?' she asks.

'Yes,' says Corey. 'This time it's an old book that's coming up for auction. He thinks it'll be of interest to both of us. Didn't say much more than that except that it could be up to six weeks.' Corey shrugs. 'I said we'd start for Berlin on our own soon and he got really jittery about it. He said it could be dangerous and I was to take particular care of you after dark.'

'Poor old chap,' says Sandra sympathetically. 'My grandad's a bit over-protective too. He foresees trouble everywhere. Not surprising considering what he's seen. Imagine what it must have been like for someone who actually survived those camps.'

Corey looks even more solemn, so Sandra comes over and kisses him. 'Or rather don't imagine it,' she says. 'Don't worry. It's OK, we won't go yet. We can amuse ourselves here for a little longer, ' she says, taking his hand and leading him back to the bedroom. 'Let's think of pleasanter things for now...'

She turns back to him grinning. 'And afterwards, you can take me shopping for warmer clothes.' Corey rolls his eyes and sighs loudly.

* * *

Hamilton Avenue, Brooklyn, Present day

Dutch, Fet and Setrakian are in the bread van heading to Gowanus as the sun rises. In the background official FinchTV posters of Eichhorst aka 'Well Dressed Man' are being removed by liveried, boiler-suited FinchCorp people, revealing mostly Bolivar Eclipse Concert advertising. There are already some homemade posters too. New Yorkers denied the freedom to express themselves over the internet are finding other outlets - and fast. There are even a few home-made T-shirts claiming "I'm the Well Dressed Man" and "I killed the mayor" piled on empty hot dog stands and newspaper kiosks. The free newspaper hods are stuffed with home-printed rebel flyers showing Well Dressed Man on the front and headlines like 'Can he save us from this plague?'

As the van travels parallel to the Gowanus expressway, Setrakian winds the window down and swivels in his seat to watch it disappear into the distance. He murmurs thoughtfully, 'Of course, tunnels. That's how they do it.'

'How they do what?' asks Fet.

' _Strigoi_ are forbidden by nature to cross running water, for example via bridges and boats,' says Setrakian. 'That, at least, is not a myth.'

'I thought that was witches,' says Fet.

Setrakian dismisses that idea. 'Wiccan? Harmless girls in heavy black eye makeup.' He returns to his thread. 'But this toll tunnel will still be effectively policed. I wonder…there must be another way.'

Dutch has been silent and withdrawn throughout the journey but when they arrive she says, 'Here it is,' and asks Fet, 'You still coming in with me?'

'Of course,' he nods and hands her a sawn-off shotgun. He picks up the nail gun.

'Not that,' says Dutch, 'it's cruel. And not the steel bar either. Bring a sword and a gun.'

Setrakian reaches for the door handle. 'Just him, please,' she says. 'No offence.'

* * *

Dutch and Fet enter her building and gag. 'You just never get used to that stink,' says Fet.

Vampire guano is everywhere, some of it swirled into graffiti of some six-limbed creature - part human, part insect. 'Didn't we see summat like that on the way here?' says Fet. Dutch shrugs, still withdrawn.

Fet grabs her arm and turns her to face him. 'Listen, I'm gonna back you up, you know that. But if you can, you should be the one to do it. It should be a friend. Nora was right about the guy at the gas station. If I go monster, I want it to be you, OK. Or maybe the old man.'

Dutch nods and swallows. 'If I get bitten, will you do it. Even before I notice. I want it to be quick.'

'Sure,' he says. 'Focus on the now though. Picture someone you really hate.'

'Mum,' she says definitely.

'No. Not her. I bet part of you, deep down, still loves her. Someone unequivocal. Someone whose smile you'd cheerfully blow off while they slept, OK.'

Dutch nods again.

'Now, keep thinking of them,' says Fet. 'Keep that face in your head and if the worst has happened to Nikki, right. That's who you're shooting at.'

They climb the stairs and Dutch tries the apartment door. It has been broken open. She looks up at Fet with fear in her eyes.

He shrugs. 'Could be humans. Burglars,' he says.

'Yeah. that'd be _so_ much better,' she says sarcastically, trying to be cool.

Fet smiles and goes first, gun in front of him and sword down by his side.

They creep around the main living space, checking all the Nikki-sized hiding spaces and several she couldn't possibly fit into. The tension lessens slightly as the search expands and continues to come up empty. 'Just the bedrooms then,' announces Fet.

Nikki's is clear except for Dutch's laptop, covered in guano and missing its hard drive. Dutch curses as Fet says, 'So she _is_ here.'

In Dutch's room the smell makes them retch afresh. There's some rustling and nickering coming from under the bed. All the bedlinen has been pulled off and something is nesting underneath for the day.

Dutch readjusts the grip on her shotgun and briefly closes her eyes. Fet lays a reassuring hand on her shoulder and readies his weapon as the Nikki _strigoi_ bursts out and goes directly for Dutch's throat, not even bothering to lash out with its stinger.

Fet kicks it away just in time and it lands hissing on the bed. 'Come on, Dutch. Remember the picture. Do it now.'

Dutch steels herself again and this time shotguns Nikki at point blank range right in the face. Fet checks the body but there's nothing left to decapitate and Dutch collapses in tears onto the floor.

Fet crouches down and gathers her into his arms for comfort. He, too, is obviously rattled as he gently rocks her to calm her down. 'Shhh...Shshshh,' he soothes. There's nothing else to say.

* * *

 **Author's note: I wonder, is it just Eichhorst? Or would Quinlan nudity have the same effect? Or is it just greater traffic associated with the US premiere of season 2? I'm writing in the dark here so please review and tell me. I do have a story to tell and I intend to follow it through but I still want to please you along the way.**


	3. Chapter 3

The Strain: Another Season  
Episode 3

 **Author's note: Purely canon characters this chapter, you'll be pleased to see.  
I'm going to bite the bullet and read the third book before I, as my fiance says, 'f*ck it up anymore'. I did check with him - I asked 'Quinlan's different isn't he?' He said 'Yes.' I asked '...and he's centuries old isn't he?' He said 'Yes.'  
Sorry if I've got it too wrong.  
PS Quinlan's not in this chapter, didn't want to mislead you. Nor is Vaun.**

The Books  
Chapter Three

* * *

9th Street, Gowanus, Brooklyn

Fet is still holding the sobbing Dutch but they've moved it to the couch. They hear the building door go and slow footsteps climbing the stairs along with the _pick pick pick_ of a cane. Fet puts a hand out to keep Dutch seated and draws his gun. He goes to the apartment door and calls out, 'Is that you, Pops?'

'Of course it's me,' returns Setrakian somewhat out of breath. After a bit more climbing, there's a pause with some panting and a _sotto voce_ 'Would it've killed them to put in an elevator?'

Fet leans over the bannister and calls, 'Need a hand, down there?' The only answer is a scowl.

When Setrakian makes it to Dutch's doorway he has to rest again while he takes in the scene. His attitude softens as Dutch's tear-stained face looks up at him. 'My dear Dutch,' he says, advancing and placing a paternal claw awkwardly on her shoulder. 'So _you've_ had to do it too.'

He sits down painfully next to her and takes her hands in his, temporarily ignoring Fet. 'I wish there were some words that might mitigate this pain. All I can say is that it was the right thing to do and very courageous on your part. And his...' Setrakian nods in Fet's direction. 'He could have lost you today. Make sure you do not shut him out forever in your distress.'

'That's the first time you've called me "Dutch",' she says.

'Mmmph,' says Setrakian and struggles to his feet. 'It's time to be going, the morning is wearing on. I shan't expect either of you to come with us to Bronxville.'

* * *

Fet's place, Red Hook, Brooklyn

Eph and Zack are in the box room, dressed and armed, waiting. It's a bit awkward after Eph's breakdown last night.

Finally, Eph starts hesitantly, 'Look, Zack,' he says, 'I'm truly sorry about last night. You shouldn't have to be the "Dad" in this relationship. I swear it'll never happen again.'

'It's OK, Dad,' smiles Zack. ' I'm just happy we both want the same thing - to be a family again. To have Mom back, alive and healthy.'

'But you know it can't ever happen. Right, buddy?' says Eph, holding his son by the shoulders for emphasis. 'There is. No. Cure.'

'Sure,' says Zack unconvincingly. 'Of course. I know that.'

The doorbell rings downstairs and Eph checks his watch.

As the wanderers returns to the shop, Nora takes the situation in with one empathic glance and swoops Dutch away from other, less understanding, eyes. 'I'll stay home with you,' she says.

'Hey!' says Fet, 'I was gonna do that.'

'It's OK,' says Dutch. 'Go. They'll need someone to protect them.'

The girls go up the stairs to the living area fractionally before Eph stomps down them. 'About time,' he snarls. 'We're going to run out of daylight at this rate. And I am _not_ keeping my son out at night with his mother running around trying to find him.'

Fet picks him by his collar and pushes him against the wall, 'She wouldn't _be_ running around if you'd had the balls to pop her when you had the chance, would she now?' he says. 'Now, show some sensitivity, man. Poor kid just killed her girlfriend.'

Eph dials back the bluster a tad and mumbles an apology.

Fet gently replaces Eph's feet on the ground and straightens his lapels. 'You sure about taking the squirt?' says Fet, glancing back at Setrakian - who shrugs.

'I won't be left behind any more,' says Zack folding his arms mutinously. 'Besides, Nora said the safest place for me is with Dad.'

Eph gives a sheepish grin and says, 'We're both armed.'

Fet grunts and yells, 'Raiding party to the van. Now!'

* * *

Luss Residence, Bronxville, Westchester County

The van pulls up on the street and Fet admires the property. 'Very smart,' he nods. 'A bit modern for my tastes but angular can be beautiful too.'

'Lots of windows to let light in,' says Eph. 'That's a good sign.'

Setrakian grunts and slithers out of the passenger seat. 'I'm more interested in who killed that _strigoi_ ,' he says, waving his sword cane at the corpse near the taxi.

Remaining alert to other dangers despite the cold sunlight, Setrakian approaches the corpse and crouches to examine it. 'Gunshot to the brain. Ordinary bullet but well placed,' he says and struggles up. 'Let's see what's inside. Vasiliy would you do the honours?'

Fet does take point and discovers the front door is broken open. 'Not the first ones here then,' he says.

Eph is next, a protective arm around Zack's shoulders. 'There are so many rooms and floors to check,' he says. 'We should split up - get it done faster, get home in the daylight.'

'God, no!' says Fet. 'Have you never watched a single horror movie, man? Or an episode of "Scooby Doo"? Never, ever, ever split up. Not ever. D'ya hear?'

Eph rolls his eyes but follows Fet into the snug where Mr Luss is still lying on his back in front of the fire, a bolt through the middle of his forehead.

Fet pulls it out and examines it. 'It's a crossbow bolt,' he says, wiping it clean on the carpet and handing it to Setrakian. 'Very medieval.'

'Indeed,' says Setrakian thoughtfully, examining it closely before pocketing it.

The taxi driver's body is smack in the middle of the kitchen floor, another black bolt through his temple. 'Didn't even make it home,' says Fet, looking at the family photo in his wallet.

The rest of the ground floor is clear and so are the upper areas. In Keane's bedroom, Zack spots a portable gaming console. 'Look, Dad. It's just like the one you and Mom got me Christmas before last. And look at all these games.'

'Why don't you take it, son?' says Eph. 'The poor kid who owned it isn't gonna need it anymore.'

'We don't know that yet,' warns Fet and Zack puts it back guiltily.

'We could take the food from the kitchen, though,' says Setrakian pragmatically. 'If we find no survivors, that is.'

'And I'll check the bathroom cabinets for any medicines,' says Eph. ' _When_ we're sure it's safe,' he adds as Fet opens his mouth to protest again.

On the lower ground floor there is not much more than a utility area and storage room/wine cellar. This is where the other three bodies are.

'CMH-logo wearing guy. No ID,' says Fet. 'Well, not on him, anyways. Delivery driver perhaps...'

'That's Joan Luss,' says Eph, nodding at her corpse while shielding Zack from the grim spectacle as best he can. 'Quite far gone, by the looks of her.'

'But who is this young lady?' says Setrakian bending down and rummaging through her pockets. 'Sebastiane Aristil. A nurse at Saint Joan's. Home address in Yonkers. I wonder what she's doing here?' He examines the body briefly. 'One cut to the hand and then a bolt to the head before she'd turned. Someone else in the city has knowledge of this scourge and is well organised. I should very much like to meet them.'

'The kids have drawn pictures of a black woman as part of their family group,' says Fet. 'Maybe she was the nanny.'

'The woman in the pictures was, kind of...rounder. And they called her "Neeva",' says Eph. 'Perhaps this is Neeva's daughter.'

'Aristil is a French name' says Setrakian. 'I suspect they were originally from Haiti. Anyone here speak French?'

'I do. A bit, I mean,' says Zack. Eph gives his son a proud jiggle of the shoulder.

'Me too,' says Fet. When the others look incredulously at him, he adds, 'Yeah! Not just muscles and a pretty face.'

'We salvage what supplies we can,' says Setrakian decisively. 'Then head to Yonkers while we have the light.'

* * *

Alleyway off West 57th Street, Manhattan

Reggie Fitzwilliam sits in a parked car with the mean-looking Asian member of his Stoneheart team.

'...and she wants all my old team to stay on at Stoneheart,' says Reggie. 'To behave completely normally - protect Mr Palmer and obey all his orders. And Eichhorst's.'

'Dammit!' protests Mr Mean. 'I was really looking forward to telling _him_ where to shove it.'

Fitzwilliam smiles.

'Hot, was she?' asks the Asian man. 'She must've been smoking for you to hop right into another shadowy organisation.'

Reggie smiles again. 'She was very beautiful, yes,' he says thoughtfully. 'But it was a kind of weaponised heat. Like she'd directed it at me for a purpose. She had this very intense stare, made me pretty uncomfortable actually. And she reminded me a bit of someone - can't remember who though?'

The other man grunts. 'Sounds like Eichhorst to me,' he says distractedly, looking out the windscreen at the huge Stoneheart edifice opposite. 'So we're to be a kind of sleeper cell? Purely on the say-so of your mysterious blonde' he asks.

'Yeah, it sounds stupid when you put it like that,' says Fitzwilliam. 'But the clincher was that she got me straight through to Augie and Tram. There and then. She's gonna send them to England where they'll be safe. Did you see that on the news?

'Yeah - _their_ news - FinchTV.'

'Look, she just...she wasn't like him.'

'Course not, man,' smirks the guard. 'She's got a killer rack.'

'Look, Ken. Are you in or not?'

Ken is serious now. 'Sorry, Reggie. I'm on edge, is all. We'll all be behind you in this. We trust you, pal. If they can really do something about these guys..if there's even a chance..we'll be ready.'

* * *

Luss residence, Bronxville, Westchester County

While our heroes are raiding the kitchen, Zack opens a door thinking it leads to a larder.

He screams and leaps back, shouting 'Monsters! In the garage. Loads of them.' There's the unpleasant nickering noise of hungry _strigoi._ Several of them rush the doorway attracted by the scent of blood and recoil from the sunlight in the well-lit house.

Setrakian moves calmly and brandishing his silver sword, closes the door. 'We'll deal with them later,' he says and continues loading tins into bread crates. The others stare at him.

* * *

Having stowed their plunder in the van, the team now turn their attention to the infested garage.

Fet spends some time jimmying the outside garage door unlocked and Zack asks him, 'Do you know how to hotwire cars? We could rig the gas tank of the cab ready to blow and then ram raid the vampires and make them go _"KABLOOIEEE!"_

'Geez, Doc,' says Fet to Eph who's watching them, 'what kinda crap do you let the kid watch?'

'Zack!' says Eph reprovingly.

'Well you need some kind of area effect weapon,' persists Zack. 'Like that light bomb. Or the dynamite. That was awesome.'

Fet grins down at the boy as he finally gets the door unlocked. 'You liked that, huh?'

Zack grins up at the exterminator as the big man lifts open the door and the boy tries an impression of him. 'Munchers go BoomBoom!'

Eph is about to protest when Setrakian, who has been ignored for the last few minutes, shouts, 'Stand aside, please.'

The older man is in the cab. He drives it, grinning maniacally and horn blaring, full tilt into the garage. It crushes and pins some strigoi and forces a few to flee outside to be cut down by the others or fried in the sun. Setrakian coolly exits the car and, using his nail gun to repel attackers, reverses out and lights a "Well Dressed Man" poster poking out of the petrol tank. When he reaches his open-mouthed comrades, he says, 'I should move if I were you.' He strides away to the Wilson's van, calling back, 'Quickly! All the gas is turned on in the house.'

Eph and Fet look at each other and scooping Zack up between them, sprint to the van's cab. Fet guns the engine and just gets the vehicle out of range before the Luss' home becomes a fireball. Setrakian looks down at Zack as they sit side by side in the back. The boy looks awestruck and the old man mouths, 'KABLOOIEEE!' and winks.

* * *

Neeva's home, Yonkers, Westchester County

Neeva is mother-henning Audrey and Keane Luss. The children want to go outside and play in the snow but she is understandably over-cautious.

'Neeva _please,'_ begs Keane, 'I hate being cooped up in here. We've never seen any of those things outside in daylight.'

Audrey is older and the emotional wounds of seeing her parents as _strigoi_ have gone deeper. She silently removes her jacket and returns to sitting in front of "Tom and Jerry" on the television.

Neeva watches her and sighs.

There's a knock at the door and Eph's voice calls out , 'Mrs Arisitil? My name is Dr Ephraim Goodweather of the Centres for Disease Control. My colleagues and I need to talk to you.'

Neeva panics. 'Go! Hide yourselves!' she commands the children. 'Now!'

They scurry about for a bit before chucking the vacuum cleaner out of a cupboard and squeezing inside. They can still be heard arguing in whispers. 'That's the one that couldn't save Mom when she got sick from the airplane.' 'Why's he here now?' 'Get your elbow out of my ribs.' 'Get your hair out of my nose.'

Neeva shushes them with a hissed, _'Taisez-vous_!', grabs her two weapons and goes to the front door.

'What do you want with us?' she quavers.

Fet's eyes appear through the letter box, then his curling lips. 'Bon jooer mar damn. Nooz ay monz mort ay layz vampires O.C.'

Neeva fires through the slit, hitting him right in the face and, crazed with terror, charges out screaming, brandishing a colourful plastic water pistol and a wooden crucifix. Fet is dripping wet and tries to grab Neeva's flailing arms. She evades him, thrusting the crucifix right up into Setrakian's bemused face and then beating Eph about the chest with it.

Zack moves out from behind his father where he'd been pushed for safety in the initial onslaught. 'Madame Aristil. _S'il vous plait! Nous ne sommes pas des démons. Nous sommes des humains. Observez!_ ' He gently takes the crucifix in his bare hands and then catches some of the drips from Fet and makes the sign of the cross on his forehead. _'C'est eau sacre n'est-ce pas?_ ' he asks and steps out into a pool of weak sunlight.

Neeva stops dead, arrested by the sight of a child. 'Yes, it is,' she says in English. 'May I have my crucifix back?' Zack returns it and Setrakian growls, 'It would be completely useless against _strigoi,_ you know.'

'Not now,' says Eph and Setrakian grumbles back towards the warm van while negotiations are concluded.

* * *

 **Author's note: Scuse my French. I only speak schoolgirl Francais but I figured - so would Zack (but schoolboy).  
**

 **Spoiler alert book 3...**

 **...  
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 **They saved the UK too! Thanks GdT and CH.**


	4. Chapter 4

The Strain: Another Season  
Episode 3

The Books  
Chapter Four

* * *

Collyweston Palace, England, 1508  
Residence of Lady Margaret Beaufort, Countess of Richmond and Derby, mother of King Henry VII, the "Red Queen"

An elderly vinegar-faced woman sits by a roaring fire in a cocoon of richly embroidered blankets. She is attended in silence by three women nearly as old as she is and well, if plainly, dressed. If Eldritch Palmer had a female doppelgänger, this is how she would appear.

A bearded man enters and announces, 'Your ladyship, my apologies for disturbing you at such a late hour. His Grace, the Bishop of Rochester, John Fisher wishes an audience with my lady, the King's Mother.'

The older lady nods slowly and the servant ushers in a hollow-cheeked man in black, still with snow in his hair. He bows low and advances with a wooden chest under his arm. 'Your ladyship, thank you for agreeing to see me. I have lately returned from Rome...' he starts urgently.

'How was His Holiness?' interrupts the Countess sourly.

'Disappointed with his lack of success in Venice, my lady,' he replies, unfazed by her rudeness. 'But Pope Julius intends an alliance with France, Aragon and the Holy Roman emperor himself to reassert himself in the spring.'

'Hmmph,' says the lady. 'Rank warmongering and power-grabbing.'

'He didn't return from Venice entirely empty-handed, however…' the cleric says, placing the chest on the Countess' side table and opening it for her.

A skeletal hand extends from the blankets and extracts one of Paolo's tablets. The silver reflects the flickering flames into the lady's face, making her eyes appear to catch fire. 'What is this heathen script, John?' she asks, her voice sounding much younger now. 'What does it say?'

'My lady, I do not know,' admits the bishop.

'How can you not know?' she says, stroppy in her disappointment. 'You understand Latin, Greek and Hebrew, do not you? You speak French and Italian as well as a native? Do you at least recognise the characters?'

'No my lady,' he says apologetically. 'The tablets were discovered somewhere in the Orient - Persia possibly. No one knows for certain.'

She gasps as an idea takes shape. 'Is this the language of Eden, do you think?' she says, her voice soft with awe.'

The Bishop shrugs.

'Well, you have the University, don't you?' she says turning the tablet over in wonder. 'Find out. Attract the best minds, the newest techniques. We have the resources. My new college can house them and all they need. You must send emissaries to search for scholars who might have the necessary knowledge.'

She looks up at him again. 'These are holy, aren't they? I can sense it.'

'So I believe, my lady - but in a way we can't understand. His Holiness thought so too. He wasn't very coherent - he seemed disturbed in his mind. But he was most insistent that they came to England - across the sea was the way he put it. And that they remained here – under guard.'

She seems to reach a decision and replaces the tablet, closing the chest and pushing it away from her. She turns back to the Bishop and asks in her normal voice, 'And how was His Holiness' bastard?'

The ladies-in-waiting gasp but John Fisher seems used to her manner. 'Intelligent, gracious and politically powerful. Felice is fortunate indeed.'

'She seems a credit to her sire in everything but the fact of her existence,' scowls the old lady severely.

'Come now, my lady,' remonstrates the Bishop gently. 'Not everyone is as ready as we were to offer up our carnal selves to a higher power.'

* * *

Poland 1944

The former _Gräfin_ , or Baroness, von Croÿ's ballroom is well proportioned and tastefully decorated. A pianist and a string quartet play for four or five young couples to dance and flirt. Eichhorst is talking to an older couple and occasionally sipping his drink.

The patrician serenity of Brahms and polite conversation is brutally violated by the grand entrance of Doktor Werner Dreverhaven. He strides into the room in a cloud of cold, fresh air and a flash of ice blue eyes. Besides his dress jacket, he is wearing jodhpurs, riding boots and a rapacious grin.

'Sorry I'm late, your ladyship,' he bows deeply at an elegant blonde (looking much like Diane Kruger would if she were aged slightly by the addition of artificial crow's feet). 'But Abraham tossed me just as we left the camp.'

'Abraham?' says the Baroness, puzzled. 'I thought your new horse was called "Adolf", Herr Doktor.'

'He was,' grins Dreverhaven wickedly, meeting and holding Eichhorst's narrowed eyes across the room. 'But I thought that was disrespectful, since I intend to ride him, not salute him.' His voice carries clearly in the silence he has caused. The hostess and most of the guests laugh but not Eichhorst.

Abruptly excusing himself from the elderly couple, Eichhorst swiftly crosses to join them. 'You don't seem very dishevelled from your fall, Werner,' he says. 'You aren't injured?'

'Thank you, Thomas, not seriously,' bows the doctor. 'I landed softly in the snow and remounted quickly. Although, I think I may have suffered a slight groin strain,' he adds, readjusting himself with a grimace. 'He's a spirited one, that Abraham.'

Eichhorst's grinds his teeth but can't reply because two matrons are bearing down on the group with four blushing daughters between them. 'Oh dear,' says the Baroness. 'I'm sorry, it seems to have started already.'

'Just like the old days, eh Standartenführer?' leers Dreverhaven, nudging Eichhorst in the ribs. 'Young women being thrown at us by Mamas seeking officer sons-in-law.' He readily accepts the hand of the most reluctant girl and sweeps her off in a waltz, a hand cupping each of the mortified maiden's buttocks.

Eichhorst throws a "Help me" glance at the laughing _Gräfin_ but courteously bends to kiss the first hand offered and takes a more orthodox ballroom hold.

* * *

"Girls' dorm", Fet's Place, Red Hook, Brooklyn

Nora knocks on the bedroom door and, ignoring Dutch's 'Go away!' enters with a steaming bowl on a tray.

'I brought you some soup,' she says. 'You haven't eaten today.'

'I had breakfast,' comes a voice from the covers.

'No you didn't,' says Nora kindly but firmly.

She perches on the edge of the tiny single bed. 'I'm not leaving until I've seen you swallow at least half of it,' she says.

Dutch sits up, her face a mess of smudged make-up and swollen eyes. 'You sound like my mum,' she sniffs.

Nora's smile is gentle but it's tinged with a little sadness that Dutch lacks the empathy to detect.

'Thanks,' says Dutch with a weak smile and she tastes the soup. She looks at it and takes another mouthful. 'Is it supposed to taste like that?' she says.

'I'm not sure, to be honest,' grimaces Nora. 'It's a can I found in Fet's kitchenette and it was too wet to be cat food. I did try it first and I've survived this long.'

The women smile at each other and Dutch puts the tray on the floor. 'Thank you for looking after me,' she says, 'but I'm not really that hungry.' She hesitates before adding, 'Stay with me for a bit, would you. Please.'

Nora nods and looks around the room in the ensuing silence, awkward in her own room.

'I think I did love her,' Dutch blurts eventually. 'Nikki, I mean. And it's clear she loved me enough to go home and wait for me. We'd been together for a long time and you build up a history, don't you?'

Nora listens in silence and puts a comforting hand on one of Dutch's that are currently tearing apart the hem of the bed cover.

'She's the one I left home for and at first I think it was simple convenience for me. She was a means of escape from my step-dad and I don't think I felt as much for her as she did for me. Not wanting to sound like a bitch or anything. But we survived through ups and downs and rows and affairs. Women _and_ men. Fighting, making up. Splitting up, getting back together.'

Dutch starts to cry. 'I always thought we'd be together at the very end. Two old bags bickering in a nursing home…and then…I go and kill her.'

She breaks down completely and Nora scooches over to take her in her arms.

'That's the real horror and cruelty of all this isn't it?' says Nora sadly, in between Dutch's racking sobs. 'Having to "release" those that mean the most to us. I imagine being turned feels like this – the guilt, the feeling that you've lost a part of your life, part of your soul. You don't feel quite human anymore. No wonder Setrakian nearly lost his mind. I still feel cold and hollow and apart from the others. Even Eph,' she pauses. 'Especially Eph, actually.'

Dutch's sobbing eases as she looks up at Nora. She's about to say something when they hear keys in locks and raised, upbeat voices - some they don't recognise.

'Don't let anyone up here, yet,' pleads Dutch. Nora squeezes her hand in acknowledgement and gets up to go down and greet the returned.

Downstairs, Zack's eyes are shining with excitement. He's acting like the host to the new children, showing them around. Nora seeks Setrakian's eyes as she descends the stairs and they find hers. 'She's OK but still very upset and wants to be alone right now,' she says in answer to his silent question. He nods and they are interrupted by Zack practically bouncing up and down.

'Nora, Nora,' he says breathlessly. 'You should've seen Mr Setrakian. He was totally amazing! He blew up a whole _houseful_ of munchers. That was some badass shit you pulled with the cab,' he adds in admiration to some shocked faces.

'Zack!' rebukes Eph, appalled. 'Mind your language.'

'Aw, c'mon Doc,' says Fet, bringing up the rear after locking up against the falling night. 'Let him have a bit of fun.'

'Look, Eph,' adds Nora as the boy grabs Audrey Luss' hand to show her the bedrooms. 'His mind is off Kelly for the very first time. Allow him this relief. It'll be brief enough.'

'How's Dutch?' asks Fet, pulling Nora gently away from the noisy group.

'Grieving,' she says. 'I think she'll be all right eventually but give her space and time for now, OK?'

Fet nods and turns back to sort out the complicated sleeping arrangements.

* * *

Poland 1944  
Von Croÿs' Ballroom

The evening has worn on and Eichhorst is looking out of the window, absently swirling his cognac. The night is clear and the snow reflects the starlight so that the distant camp is easily visible and, beyond it, dramatically backlit by the risen moon, a fairytale castle looms on a hill.

'Poor things,' says the Baroness softly, in his ear. He hadn't heard her approach, so distracted was he by his thoughts, but he barely starts.

'They don't realise you're married to the Third Reich now,' she continues, drawing even closer. 'They are desperate to get their virgins away from here. Away from the Russian advance. They are terrified of the Red menace.'

'And they are right to be,' says Eichhorst calmly.

She turns away, apparently displeased with his response - back to the window and the view of castle and camp. For a few minutes they stand, side by side, in silence.

'Castle Sardu,' she says eventually, nodding at its silhouette. 'It's ruined now, but in the _Gräf's_ grandfather's day it was a thriving estate under the giant Lord Jusef Sardu.'

Eichhorst turns towards her. 'Tell me about him,' he says.

She smiles archly. 'Only if you promise to dance with me.'

'Your terms are easy enough, Frau Von Croÿ,' he says gallantly and, before she can frown at the common address of "Frau" instead of her preferred "Gräfin", they are turning gracefully around the floor.

'No,' protests the Baroness. 'Not like you danced with that spotty little airhead. Pretend we're young again, Thomas,' she demands. 'Pretend you want me.'

Eichhorst doesn't say anything for a bar or two, then, for once forgetting his republican stance, he simply says, 'The _Graf_.'

She glances over at someone who looks more walrus than man. 'I only married him so I could be nearer to you,' she says. 'And he knows it.'

'Maria,' he begins compassionately.

'Don't say it,' she hisses impatiently. 'Don't explain. Don't apologise. Tonight, just for one dance, make me believe it could be.' She frees a hand, skilfully undoing his jacket.

'Maria,' he says again. But this time his voice is low and hoarse, right in her ear. Holding her closer, he steers her behind the musicians, out of sight of her husband.

He breathes her name again, twining his fingers in her elaborate chignon and pulling her body hard up against his. He watches the pulse in her throat for a second or two then traces it leisurely downwards with his lips. He is about to kiss her when, rather than a sigh or a gasp, he hears her sob. He freezes.

Tears are beginning to flow. 'What did I do wrong?' he asks gently.

She shakes her head, sniffing inelegantly. 'Wherever you're going - Brazil, Argentina, South Africa... Wherever it is – you should go on the stage.'

'But…' he starts.

'You're a great actor,' she chokes, wiping her eyes. 'Completely convincing. The trouble is, I still feel it. For real.' She shrugs helplessly.

'Wha…' he says again, confused.

'When you escape, Thomas,' she says earnestly, into his eyes, 'Take one of my daughters with you.' She looks across at her three girls - all blonde, all pretty - giggling in a group with some younger officers.

'Only not Eva,' she adds. 'She might be yours.' And she swishes out of the room.

Eichhorst is left staring at the door for a long time after she leaves, until Dreverhaven arrives and opens a full bottle of cooking brandy under his nose. 'I'm not in the mood for you, Doktor,' says Eichhorst.

'You may as well drink it, you know,' says Dreverhaven, gleefully ignoring the rebuff. 'You've already had too much to drive back. If you can't find a warm body to sleep with here, you should take my car. My driver's probably in the kitchen trying to insert himself into the new housemaid.'

'I thought you rode here?' says Eichhorst, apparently addressing the doorway.

'God, no,' laughs Dreverhaven. 'It's freezing outside. I just wanted to make an entrance. And by God, it worked, didn't it? Don't worry,' he adds, 'I shan't be returning tonight. The woodcarver will be all yours for a few hours.'

Eichhorst's head whips round. He sees Dreverhaven's evil wink and takes a threatening step towards him.

'You should go to him, you know - your pet,' taunts the doctor. 'Make a move, do _something_. You'll regret it if you let him die with the others. You say I'm cruel but it's far worse to allow him to believe you care, to expect special treatment - perhaps even a rescue.'

Eichhorst has a thoughtful, faraway expression on his face - and the barest hint of a smile.

Dreverhaven spots it. 'What? What are you thinking?' he says, 'That maybe he doesn't _have_ to die?' Realisation dawns. 'Oh-ho, you think the predator in the barracks might let you keep him.'

Eichhorst moves fast and suddenly Dreverhaven is lying on his back on the piano, Eichhorst gripping his throat and snarling into his face. 'No more insinuations. What do you know of him?'

Dreverhaven laughs. 'Did you think you were the only one he'd visited? He's made me offers too, you know – promises. But we shouldn't speak of this here,' he adds, his eyes flicking towards the gathering audience.

Eichhorst recollects himself and allows Dreverhaven to rise just as the first mortars are heard. They both look up and the doctor says, 'Go, Thomas. I'm still staying here. They're not that close but the men will need their leader.'

'And if there are any casualties?'

'Then Maurer can deal with them.'

Eichhorst tuts but takes the bottle and finds the Baroness alone in the darkened dining room. She makes to evade him but he accosts her.

'Maria,' he says quickly. 'I give you my word that no Russian will lay so much as a lustful eye on you or any of your daughters, if you do one thing.' She listens attentively.

'Tonight, when everyone has left, and once you've prised Werner off whichever unfortunate creature has taken his fancy this time,' he continues. 'You must all go to your hunting lodge on the edge of the Sardu estate.'

'It's not habitable anymore, Thomas,' she protests. 'It's completely derelict.'

'It's only for a few days,' he says. 'Two weeks maximum. The Russians are too close for you to make it to the coast.' He takes her hand. 'I _will_ come for you,' he promises. 'Now, where's the kitchen?'

* * *

 **Author's note: Mmm, that wicked Dreverhaven is fast becoming one of my guiltiest pleasures. I know I shall have to give him up one day but I intend to enjoy him as much as possible until then. I hope you don't hate him cos he's going to show up again and again.  
** **Update Jan 2016. He is now re-cast. No actor is specified for the sake of domestic harmony but he is NOTHING like Christoph Waltz. And even less like the TV show's Dreverhaven who will henceforth be known as Rolf Steiner. My Doktor is sex on a stick. Or perhaps that should be sex on a spike. I'm still toying with plans involving The Fassbender later - and they're still mad, bad and totally ridiculous.**


	5. Chapter 5

The Strain:Another Season  
Episode 3

The Books  
Chapter Five

* * *

The streets of Red Hook, Brooklyn

The "concerned citizens" are back but they are missing the brusquer of the two barefaced men. The remaining bandana-free officer looks very like Adam Baldwin in the glare of the security lights of the Red Hook Center for Rehabilitation and Senior Care. He rings the late night reception bell but there's no response.

He waits and rings again but creepy bandana guy says, 'For God's sake, Sarge, we're not f*cking Jehovah's Witnesses.'

Creepy pounds on the door with the butt of his weapon, bellowing, 'NYPD! Open up!' His patience lasts almost a minute before he shoots around the keypad and lets them in.

'He he he,' Creepy laughs nastily, 'How we gonna tell if these flaky old fossils are zombies or not?' Neither of the others so much as smiles.

They all cover their noses at the stench of ammonia. 'We ever gonna get used to that?' laments Family Guy but no one replies.

'I don't think we're gonna find any survivors to save here, Donny,' says the sergeant quietly as Creepy goes ahead down the corridor.

Creepy lifts a fire extinguisher and starts banging it on the doors and walls, shouting, 'Come out to play little zombies.'

'Is he high?' says Donny. 'He's gotta be high. Hey Nico! Shut the f*ck up, will ya?

'Don't be a pussy, Don,' Nico calls back. 'We haven't lost a fight yet, have we?'

'Not yet, asshole,' says Donny. 'But Micky didn't show up tonight after getting nicked by a freak. And I don't wanna wind up eating my family like that TV doc said I would.'

'Don't worry buddy,' says Nico. 'I'd protect Nina and the kid from ya. And I bet she'd be _real_ grateful.'

Donny makes to attack Nico but the sergeant puts out a restraining arm.

'Nico,' says Sarge. 'Shut up! Right now. Or I'll shoot you mys…'

He's cut off by dozens of _strigoi_ swarming out of every door, in a seemingly coordinated attack.

The police are quickly overwhelmed and Nico, a few yards ahead of the others is swamped under a heap of winceyette-clad pensioners.

The others hesitate for a moment but Donny drags the sergeant away and they retreat the way they came, shooting as they go.

Bursting out of the door, they spot more of the superhuman geriatrics coming round the corner - leaping over cars and bouncing off walls - always advancing, hissing and nickering.

'Run!' shouts the sergeant and, leading from the front, fires off a couple of rounds and sprints for the main road, Donny close on his heels.

They keep going through the deserted streets, closer and closer to Richards Street, until they reach a dead end alleyway. The _strigoi_ surround them and Donny and Sarge empty their guns in a screaming last stand, their backs hard up against a twelve foot high blank steel gate.

* * *

Maastricht, Autumn 1989

It's dawn and Sandra and Corey are loading his Mercedes for the road trip to West Berlin. Her modest rucksack has become a rucksack and two suitcases.

'Now, you've got your passport ready, haven't you?' says Sandra.

'Yes,' sighs Corey.

'And the insurance documents – travel, medical and car, the hotel reservations, driving license, firearms permit?'

'Good God, Sandra,' he says, exasperated. 'It's not my first time travelling through the Eastern bloc.'

She ignores him, rummaging through the pockets of her pack. 'Where are the marks? Did you remember to change the guilders like I said?'

'Are you going to be this bossy and annoying when we're married?' he says.

Without looking up, she giggles good-naturedly at his joke. 'Is that a proposal?' she laughs.

'Er…Yes,' he says, suddenly serious.

She drops the bag and stares at him, mouth open, for far too long.

He swallows and smiles nervously, waiting. And waiting.

Finally, she comes out of her trance and beams. 'Then, yes,' she says. 'I _will_ be as bossy and annoying.' She flings herself at him, kissing him with abandon.

Eventually he frees himself. 'Come on, we should really get going if we want to check in and have some time in Berlin before the professor's flight lands,' he smiles. 'And I have a ring to buy…'

They drive out of town, past trees and hedges that have fully turned. As they speed off into the sunrise on the A2, past a sign indicating the hundreds of kilometres to go, the car radio is playing Chris Rea...

 _Oh look out world, take a good look  
What comes down here  
You must learn this lesson fast and learn it well  
This ain't no upwardly mobile freeway  
Oh no, this is the road to hell…_

* * *

Alleyway near Richards Street, Red Hook, Brooklyn

The cops are still screaming and shooting but the end appears to be nigh, when the gate behind them swings inwards and they're dragged through into darkness.

'What's going on? Who are you?' asks the sergeant.

'You're being rescued and we're your rescuers,' says a woman's voice curtly. 'This way.'

The pull on their arms stops as if that brief explanation is enough to ensure their compliance. And it is. The cops have no choice but to follow the voice through the dark building towards the light outside. She moves quickly but they're so adrenalised that they can easily keep up.

Exiting the building they see it's a storage room separated by a tiny concrete yard from the rear end of a pizzeria. The woman is a brunette in jeans and leather jacket and waiting for her is a red-haired man, a bit older than her. They nod at each other and she bangs on the back door shouting 'NYPD! Open up!' There's some arguing on the other side but she kicks it yelling, 'NOW! Or I shoot.'

The door is opened unto them and they run through the kitchen and takeaway counter area, out into the street. She looks around and Sarge wheezes, 'O'Keefe,' pointing his thumb at his chest and 'Wachowski,' indicating Donny. 'Seventy-sixth…' _pant, puff, wheeze_ '…precinct.'

She looks at them doubtfully and says, 'Bartoli and Collins. Eighty-fourth.' She spots the hunting pack of vampires coming over the top of the buildings behind them and orders, 'MOVE!'

The officers follow Captain Bartoli down a side street but stop when they see the river ahead. She climbs easily over a high chain-link fence into the port area, using her jacket to pad the barbed wire and leaving it there for the others. She makes for the dock wall and vaults over it – apparently into the water. Donny and O'Keefe look to Collins for reassurance but he's already following, his face as red as his hair.

The proud Seventy-sixth don't waste time shrugging but plunge after the others, landing on the cardboard and tarpaulin of an empty barge. Bartoli is already casting off and hands her partner a boat hook for defence as she fiddles with the engine. The monsters stop dead at the waterside, hissing and lunging with their stingers but Bartoli manages to start the barge and they pull sluggishly away from land – still human.

* * *

West Berlin, Autumn 1989  
The late Dr David Kaplan's university office

The introductions having been completed at the airport, Setrakian is keen to get down to business. He looks expectantly at the first pupils he has had for decades. 'Well,' he says. 'Who's first?'

'You go,' says Sandra to Corey. 'You're dealing with real life justice.'

He leafs through his file and lays Dreverhaven's A5-sized photograph circa 1944 on the desk and points at it hard. 'Doktor Werner Dreverhaven,' he says.

'Oh, he's kinda handsome isn't he?' says Sandra.

Corey and Setrakian look at her like she's just suggested eating a live baby.

'Yuh!' he says. 'For a guy old enough to be your dad! Not to mention an evil mass murderer.'

'Sorry,' says Sandra. She shrugs and wanders off to browse the shelves of books.

Corey places a similar photograph of Eichhorst on the desk and points at it the same way, as if trying to poke the Nazi's eye out. 'Commandant Thomas Eichhorst,' he says. Then, 'You don't fancy him as well do you?' he says sarcastically to Sandra.

She turns round and glances quickly at the picture. 'No,' she says. 'And I don't fancy that other guy. I just expected someone _that_ nasty to be physically distorted in some way.'

'Yes,' says Setrakian. 'It is part of the puzzle, isn't it? How can an apparently normal human being be capable of such monstrous cruelty? These Nazis had wives and families that they loved and cared for - although not these particular individuals - yet their working lives were dedicated to wiping other people's families off the face of the earth. Including mine. Eichhorst was bad enough, although he tended to distance himself from the dirtier aspects of camp life. Herr Doktor, on the other hand, positively gloried in it. The nastier and sicker the perversion, the better.'

'I'm so sorry,' says Sandra, truly contrite. 'I didn't think. Besides even if they're still alive, they've got to be ninety or a hundred years old.'

Corey slaps down two other A5 images, this time of very elderly men. 'These are age-adjusted photographs of them,' he says.

Setrakian reaches into his Gladstone bag, withdraws a massive ancient tome and opens it at a bookmarked page. He places it on top of the four photographs. It shows a hand drawn image of a mature naked vampire – no nose, no hair, no genitals, the throat folds unhidden, guillotine-shaped incisors revealed in a hideous grimace, their skin coloured a kind of greenish ivory colour and eyes black with red edges.

'This is how they look now,' he says.

Corey and Sandra gaze at Setrakian for a second before Corey bursts out laughing.

'Are you taking the piss?' asks Sandra.

Setrakian closes the book with a snap. 'Agh! I should have known you wouldn't believe it.'

'And you do?' asks Corey.

They both look at Setrakian.

'It is the truth,' he says sadly.

He turns to Sandra. 'I had hoped that you, at least, would be open to extreme possibilities.'

'I'm sorry, Sir, but Israel won't accept the testimony of a wild-eyed loony,' says Corey.

'Corey!' rebukes Sandra. 'Think what he's been through. At the very least you should listen to the prosaic part of his tale.'

She gently grabs Setrakian's arm as he moves to replace the book in the bag. 'And I will listen to everything you can tell me about the two SS "vampires". I'll promise to keep an open mind and write it all down. I can't promise to get it published as anything other than science fiction. But, please - I want to hear the stories.'

Sandra and Setrakian hold each other's assessing gaze for a second or two.

He glances at Corey who sighs, shrugs and says, 'OK.'

'Good,' Setrakian. 'Because we must work late into the night to maximise the time I have available and I do not want Miss Edwards walking the night time streets of Berlin alone.'

'It's OK,' says Sandra. 'Corey's been teaching me some Krav Maga for self-defence. I can take care of myself.'

'Not against these creatures,' says Setrakian. 'Nor can Mynheer Henke, for that matter, but there is a kind of safety in numbers. If one of you were taken, the other would call for help. That fact, at present, would be enough to put one off an attack.'

'What kind of martial arts do we need then?' asks Corey sarcastically. 'Swordfighting?'

'Only if Errol Flynn attacks,' grins Sandra. 'Right, Professor?'

Setrakian manages a grim smile. 'Correct,' he says. 'Forget anything you know about fighting a human - no matter how powerful or skilled. These things are too strong and too fast. Plus a strigoi 'tongue' for want of a better word is several feet long. By the time you've thrusted, parried or turned a somersault over your opponent's head, the bloodworms will already be making their way to your brain.'

'And do not put your trust in a bulb of garlic or a crucifix,' he adds. 'Those are just the fictions of a fevered Catholic brain. I can teach you enough to stay human. Knowledge, in this case, is not only power, it is your best defence.'

'That book, Professor,' says Sandra eagerly examining the pictures. 'Was that the one that delayed your departure?'

'No, Miss Edwards,' he says. 'I have had this volume since my tenure in Vienna. _This_ is the work I acquired last week.' He produces a leather bound quarto-sized book with no title or lettering on cover or spine. 'These are _The Dreverhaven Notes_ ,' he says. 'The first half will be of interest to Mynheer Henke and the latter half to your good self,' he says. 'Once you have accepted the truth,' he adds sternly, putting it away when she reaches for it.

He picks out a smaller volume and offers it to Sandra. 'This is my English translation of the last of the _Sardu Diaries_ , my dear,' he says. 'You may safely start _its_ perusal now.'

* * *

Fet's Place, Red Hook, Brooklyn

The whole group, apart from Dutch, are in the basement kitchen area. Neeva is cooking something on the tiny stove and the children are chattering around a table that's been brought down. It looks and sounds like a normal family scene, complete with grouchy granddad, boozy brother-in-law and sidelong looks at exes.

Suddenly, there's a thud from the shop. Neeva swoops the Luss' under her wings and hides under the table, whimpering. Eph drops his glass and grabs Zack protectively, preventing him from following Nora, Fet and Setrakian who have drawn their weapons and are investigating the noise.

'No. Stay and protect the others,' Setrakian tells Nora. 'This could be a distraction for a two-pronged assault.'

She obeys with a tut and the men advance, Fet pushing Setrakian behind him.

When they get to the shop front, they hear the sound of a car pulling away at speed. Fet unlocks door and grate but it's gone by then. On the floor beneath the letter box is a cellophane-wrapped catalogue for Sotheby's Fine Arts auction. Setrakian creaks down to pick it up and rips the plastic away.

A postcard with a bird on it falls from between two pages. Halfway down the left hand side of the marked space is an entry entitled The _Occido Lumen_.

Setrakian gasps and drops the catalogue. White-faced, he staggers backwards, clutching at his chest. 'No,' he whispers and collapses into Fet's arms.

* * *

 **Author's note: Sorry, should have posted this last night but I fell asleep.**


End file.
